<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>waxen // BITE BACK! by saintchlorine</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145500">waxen // BITE BACK!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintchlorine/pseuds/saintchlorine'>saintchlorine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Creep (2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mental Institutions, Multi, Unhealthy Relationships, lots of warning that i have elected to put in the notes rather than try to list here, not dramatic though they're just inpatient, yes i did finally rewrite this :) i told you all i would!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:01:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintchlorine/pseuds/saintchlorine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There is illness, and then there is this.</p><p>(or: three inpatients come to the hospital to get better. they meet. the odds of healing grow slimmer by the minute.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron/Josef (Creep), Aaron/Sara (Creep), Josef/Sara (Creep)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I. CAMELLIA</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>note: this fic is fairly dark, particularly as it goes on. if you're worried about any possible triggers, please <a href="https://waxenbiteback.tumblr.com/wbbtrigs">click here</a> to see a general list i've compiled. be aware that this list <i>does contain spoilers</i>!</p><p>(if this story sounds familiar, that's because i previously wrote a fic called "it's not your fault (it doesn't have to be)." after putting it on hiatus and coming back to it, i realized i wasn't very happy with it anymore and felt i could do better. so, i decided to keep the basic premise and rewrite it into something new. if you read the original, i hope you enjoy this one as well! it's quite different, but hopefully in a good way.)</p><p>un-beta'd, so apologies for any errors. stay safe, and i hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was something wrong with the faucets.</p><p>The metal took fingerprints well, smudged with a fresh set every time Aaron turned the shower on. When he shut the water off, there was always another smattering on the stainless steel. Sometimes, with much scrutiny and careful avoidance of the spray, he could see both sets at once, the new and old marked together.</p><p>Then, the next time he got in, his prints were always gone. It was strange, as if the whole thing had been polished down since he last used it. He felt like something was erasing his existence bit by bit, finger by finger. It frightened him.</p><p>On his second day in the ward, he tried asking the nurse about it. He didn't say much in response, just called in the doctor right after as if Aaron had confessed something horrible. She stood over his bed and lectured him about his condition, said it was all in his head, that he was looking for something to worry about and there was nothing strange or worrisome about it. He shouldn't concern himself with such things, she said. It wasn't healthy.</p><p>Aaron begrudgingly let it go, if only because his tongue couldn't seem to form words at the time. He wondered how much longer he could take being stuck in the room, scheduled down to the second with a nurse next to him at all times. From his window, he could see the city below. People walking and laughing, cars driving past, a whole world just a few stories down. The glass couldn't be shattered. He thought about those fingerprints.</p><p>On the third day, his nurse assured him that a bed would be open soon and that he could leave. The hours ticked by with no call saying he was free to go, no updates, not even a disappointing <em>not today</em>. It was all radio static on that end. He watched the clock, sipping his juice box as slowly as possible while the nurse clacked his nails against the keyboard. The smell of disinfectant was giving him a headache.</p><p>At 3:40, his mother came to visit as a "surprise." Unfortunately, it wasn't much of a surprise at all; he heard her long before he saw her, voice unmistakable in such a quiet place. She was on the phone at the other end of the hall, laughing loudly and making jokes as she waltzed through the designated suicide watch ward. He was grateful that no one told her to quiet down; the familiar noise was a comfort after so much silence.</p><p>She knocked on the door to his room twice, not waiting for an answer before she opened it. Some things never change.</p><p>"Hi, honey," she cooed, striding into the room. "Hang on, I'll call you back. Yeah. Yes! Okay. Yes. Buh-bye." She dropped the call, nails clicking obnoxiously on the screen. They looked fresh; she must have gotten them done before coming to the hospital.</p><p>"Hey," Aaron muttered, voice hoarse and throaty from lack of use. He coughed into his elbow and tried again. "How are you?"</p><p>"I'm good, sweetie," she said, shoving her phone back into her bag. In her arm was a bouquet of camellia flowers, her favorite. She insisted on picking them out for every occasion so she could brag about their beauty to everyone. Funerals, birthdays, engagements, and deathbeds– they all were decorated with her camellias.</p><p>The arrangement felt less like a gift for her sick son and more like an excuse to chat up the florist. He was just glad she visited at all. It was, pathetically, more than he'd been expecting.</p><p>When the nurse noticed the flowers, he quickly tried to confiscate them. His mother refused to give the bouquet up, her tightening grip crinkling the foil. She scoffed and held them close to her chest, refusing to listen to the explanations as to why it might be a bad idea to bring a bouquet into a psych ward in an actual, honest-to-god hospital. The nurse said he didn't even understand how she managed to get them this far without being stopped. Aaron tuned out the argument at that point, not having the energy to deal with it all.</p><p>In the ensuing struggle to confiscate the flowers, a single glossy petal came loose. It floated to the floor, spinning until it landed on the tile. He recognized it as his mother's favorite: Camellia japonica genus, red and white blotted color variant. Aaron had always hated them. His mother kept them everywhere in their old house, on every table and mantle. Anywhere he looked, camellias were there. They reminded him of viscera streaked across snow or marble, like the trail a wolf would leave dragging its kill. Sometimes there would be little flecks of red on their otherwise pure white petals, blood splatters in a clean room. He always felt like he was looking at a crime scene. This time was no different.</p><p>The space behind his left eye pulsed in a staccato <em>one-two-three</em> before he clambered to his feet and puked his guts up in the bathroom. He slammed the door shut out of habit, the nurse almost instantly opening it a smidge. His mother tutted in the other room and made some remark about his sickness. Aaron rolled his eyes through the dry heaves. She was so desperate to convince herself that nothing was wrong with his brain. It was all just his body, always just his body, never anything wrong up top. She was delusional.</p><p>When he was done, he stood and flushed the toilet with heaving breaths. He glanced over at the shower handle and saw that his fingerprints were gone. A jolt of fear struck him deep in his abdomen, blood running cold.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Maybe he was delusional too.</p><p>↭</p><p>Two hours later, after the call that a bed was open finally came through, Aaron was strapped up in the back of an ambulance and finally being carted to the <em>actual </em>psychiatric hospital. The whole way there, as he cringed in fear with every bump in the road, a chatty EMT told him all about her uncle. He had gone to that hospital, he was bipolar, it was really good for him, etc. Aaron tried to be polite and listen, but couldn't focus on a word she said. His head was swimming, motion sickness getting to him as he stared out of the back window at the tarmac below. Still, he made an effort to insert "uh-huh"s when they felt appropriate.</p><p>When they arrived and the EMT unstrapped him, saying her goodbyes, she looked as if she was on the verge of tears. Aaron felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate the emotion, but what was he supposed to do? Cry with her? As a man came out from the hospital and greeted him, he realized half the people she told that story to probably <em>did </em>cry with her at the end. The guilt tunneled its way through his chest as he followed the man inside.</p><p>After another hour or so of paperwork, sympathies, and studying the patterns on tissue boxes, Aaron was finally on the ward. A lady took his bags from him to "get them sorted" while a guy gestured for him to follow. He nodded politely and allowed himself to be led into another room, another man already inside. They had him strip down to his underwear as they circled him, documenting all of the old scars and wounds that he came in with to make sure he didn't leave with anything new. After that, he had to strip fully and perform the "squat-cough-humiliation" routine to be checked for contraband. He tried not to think while it was happening, hoping to save himself from a least a little bit of psychological trauma in this ordeal. It didn't help the nausea stewing in his gut. He decided that, in the future, he would refrain from attempting suicide to avoid ever having to do it again.</p><p>That, or attempt and succeed.</p><p>He pushed the thought from his mind.</p><p>Aaron had no idea what time it was anymore, but he figured it must have been sorta late since there was no chatter outside. When he left the horrible, sterile room where his dignity was lost, the common area was empty. He could see lights on in a few of the rooms lining the hall, but most were dark. The lady from before came, returning all of his belongings to him in paper bags. He wanted to ask where all of his luggage was but decided against it. Starting a conversation sounded horrible. He just wanted to go to sleep.</p><p>She handed him a folder, took out a page, and began explaining the daily "itinerary" in depth. He tried to listen but his mind kept going back to that sterile room. He wondered if he'd just told them– maybe explained– <em>done something</em>–</p><p>"Josef, dude, what are you doing out here?"</p><p>Aaron jumped hard at the voice, adrenaline flooding him for no good reason. The aide who'd checked him for contraband was on the other side of the room, chastising some guy behind the counter. He could only see the back of the offender's head, dark and shaggy hair almost touching his shoulders. To his right was an open door, light from the room spilling into the dim common area.</p><p>"Sorry," the guy behind the counter said, hands raised in innocence as he grabbed a styrofoam cup off the counter. "Just wanted some water."</p><p>"You have a faucet in your room," the aide said, tone flat. The guy laughed.</p><p>"Fair point, Marcus. Fair point," he muttered, turning around with a grin. The guy noticed him instantly, smile fading as he stared at Aaron, head tilted. Sizing him up. His eyes were strange, almost black, and with something distinctly...off-putting behind them. Aaron froze as the man took a few steps toward him, his smile returning.</p><p>"<em>Josef</em>," the woman next to Aaron said, exasperated. The guy– Josef– stopped and gave her another smile, this one emptier somehow.</p><p>"Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to say hi to the new guy." He didn't move any closer but seemed like he desperately wanted to, teeming with nervous energy. "I'm Josef."</p><p>"Uh, I'm–" Aaron's voice cracked and he cleared his throat, trying to ignore the embarrassment that followed. "I'm Aaron," he replied, clearer this time.</p><p>"Nice to meet you, Aaron," Josef said, never ceasing to smile. Something in his expression warmed up as he said his name as if he'd just discovered something fantastic. Aaron was both flattered and uncomfortable. He felt like he was going to puke.</p><p>"You too," Aaron forced out. Josef nodded, seeming content with the response as he turned back towards his room. The lady sighed.</p><p>"Sorry, he's kind of a troublemaker. We have to reign him in sometimes."</p><p>Aaron gave a polite shrug in reply, praying that this whole conversation would be over with soon. He just wanted to be alone again.</p><p>Luckily, the itinerary wasn't too long. The woman didn't have much more to point out, only taking another minute or so before leading him down the hall. She gestured to a room on the left marked with a purple "7" sticker, said goodnight, and went on her way.</p><p>He tossed his bags on a desk in the corner, not bothering to tidy up when the bags crumpled and spilled. The room stank of fresh paint and carpet cleaner; he could feel a headache setting in already.</p><p>For the first time in days, he was alone.</p><p>Aaron didn't change into pajamas, brush his teeth, or anything else that might have constituted a nightly routine. He just turned the lights off and crawled under the covers. So many thoughts were rushing through his head, all of them fleeting and stupid. It wasn't worth the effort to get stuck on any of them so they just flitted past, one by one, before eventually lulling him into a restless, strange sleep.</p><p>Still, it was better than nothing.</p><p>‽</p><p>
  <em>A nightmare.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He is in his childhood home, a bucket of white paint in one hand and a roller in the other. His father's old coat is wrapped around his shoulders, the sleeves knotted tight around his throat. The wall is strewn with fresh blood, firetruck red and cartoonish. Odd little grey blotches are sliding down from it, almost fleshy but not quite right. Not quite earthly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He takes the roller and smears white paint on top of the blood, huge globs of both spilling onto the floor. The walls turn pink from his efforts and the coat's sleeves wrap a little tighter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He tries again, still smearing pink all over the walls and floor, and keeps catching the grey lumps. They embed themselves underneath the paint that's already dry, already a mess, and the coat gets tighter and tighter and there's nothing he can do, it's impossible to do it correctly, it's all just fucking red–</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Someone is coming up the stairs. He turns to look at the door and sees his mother in the hall, but her eyes are all wrong and the sleeves are choking him, his vision going black and all he can hear is static as he watches her mouth move, can see her yelling at him but can't do anything about it, crumples to the fucking floor in horrific spasms and she's still screaming.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He looks down and realizes that the blood is his own, as the pressure builds behind his eyes, as the blood streams from his nose and ears and eye sockets and fuckfuckfuck–</em>
</p><p>‽</p><p>Three quick knocks on the door startled Aaron awake.</p><p>"Breakfast!" the lady on the other side yelled.</p><p>His throat was tight, the phantom sleeves of the jacket still choking him. Hesitantly, he took a few fluttery little breaths through his nose and kept still as his heart returned to a normal pace. After a moment of that, he dared to twitch a finger. Nothing awful came of it. He was safe.</p><p>When he reached up to rub his eyes, he realized his glasses were still on his face. He groaned and took them off, examining the grubby lenses. A vivid fingerprint was streaked down one, the grooves almost perfectly visible and defined. He must have tried rubbing his eyes in his sleep.</p><p>The day was already off to a shitty start, so being faced with a cafeteria full of unwelcoming tables didn't improve his mood any.</p><p>He'd never liked lunchtime when he was in school. Even when he was little it made him anxious; he wasn't exactly a cool kid with his oversized glasses, piss monitor under his shirt, and baseball card collections. He didn't even <em>like</em> baseball. It was his uncle's thing all the way, so much so that he gifted him an enormous collection of rare cards. In an effort to appear masculine and noteworthy, Aaron made an effort to memorize everything about them. Turns out, photographic memory of useless sports trivia did not a cool third-grader make.</p><p>He felt just like that little kid again as his hands shook, the oatmeal on his tray teetering dangerously close to the edge as he surveyed the room. Everyone was starting to notice him. He'd been standing in one spot for way too long now, frozen at the end of the serving line, and now he looked fucking weird. On all of the faces, he could see the pity that <em>almost </em>led to the offer of a seat but was withheld in case he ended up being a freak.</p><p>That didn't feel super fair to assume in a mental hospital, but he didn't have time to dwell on his preconceived biases. He had more pressing matters to worry about, such as whether or not he was about to faint from embarrassment in the middle of this cafeteria.</p><p>Just as he was about to leave the room altogether and cry in the bathroom like the good old days, someone called out to him.</p><p>"Hey, new dude!"</p><p>When he turned around, he saw the source of the shout. It was a girl at the rightmost back table, huddled in on herself as if she was freezing. Based on the number of layers she wore, he figured that must not be far from the truth. She waved her hand and pointed emphatically at the open seat across from her. Seeing no other options, he made his way over to her table. His body swelled with a horrible mixture of relief and fear as he sat across from her.</p><p>After a long, uncomfortable silence, she finally spoke. "Nice to meet you."</p><p>"Nice to meet you too," Aaron replied, the words mechanical and emotionless. She either didn't notice or ignored his tone, offering a weak smile. He did his best to return it. "I'm Aaron, by the way."</p><p>"Sara," she replied, picking at the oatmeal on her tray with a look of disgust. After a moment she set her spoon aside with a strange reverence. "So, uh... Have you been here before?"</p><p>Aaron shook his head and stabbed a straw into the foil lid of the orange juice cup. "Nope. First time."</p><p>"I thought so," she said with a nod. "You seem kinda out of your element here. No offense."</p><p>"None taken. Uh, what about you?" he asked, sipping the juice and cringing when met with half-frozen slush rather liquid.</p><p>"Fifth time," she sighed, bringing her knees closer to her chest. "Fifth fucking time."</p><p>Aaron suppressed all of his knee-jerk reactions to that information, instead just giving what he hoped was a thoughtful and sympathetic nod. She didn't seem to buy it but mercifully made no comment.</p><p>"It's not that bad really, once you get used to everything. It's just routine, y'know? Same thing every day to give us <em>structure</em>," she said, punctuating the final word with a roll of her eyes. "I don't mind much. It's kinda nice, actually. Safe."</p><p>The word held a weight that Aaron wasn't sure he understood, but he figured it was more polite not to inquire. He was suddenly aware of how little he'd contributed to the conversation, self-consciousness creeping in. He racked his mind for something to say, to keep the ball rolling. All he came up with was, "What are you here for?"</p><p>She raised an eyebrow at him and he immediately began backtracking. "Sorry, I don't why I– it's none of my business, I don't want to– it's just– sorry. I'm sorry." He could feel his palms dampening as they shook, nerves finally manifesting on the outside. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd talked to a peer, let alone a stranger who was pretty and cool and probably fucking awesome. Aaron could just <em>feel</em> his social status degrading.</p><p>"Nah man, it's okay," Sara laughed after a second. There was no bitter tone to it like he'd been anticipating; in fact, she seemed to think it was genuinely funny. He didn't know if that was better or worse. "I'm here for lots of stuff that I don't super want to get into at 8 in the morning. Don't worry about it, though." She must have noticed how red his face was, because she added, "Seriously. No big deal."</p><p>Aaron nodded and stared down at his tray until the humiliation faded. When he finally had it in him to look back up, Sara was staring over his shoulder with her eyebrows knit in confusion. He tried to turn around and see what she was staring at, but she quickly stopped him.</p><p>"No, don't look. It'll be weirder if you look," she whispered, lowering her head a little. Everything in Aaron told him to turn around, his skin buzzing with the need. A deep dread welled in his chest as he remained still.</p><p>"What is it?" he asked, voice tight with the effort of keeping his tone even. His stupid brain filled in the blank of what could be behind him with a million equally stupid things: monsters, axe murderers, starved feral wolves, etcetera etcetera. It was just a barrage of shit that didn't make sense but freaked him out nonetheless, all creeping up behind him.</p><p>"This guy is just staring at you," she said, leaning in close, conspiratorial. "I thought he was staring at me at first, but I'm pretty sure it's <em>you</em>."</p><p>Unable to hold himself back any longer, Aaron whipped around to look. Sara tried to protest, but it was too late. He was already staring directly at him, their eyes locking. He recognized the guy from the night before; he was the one who got in trouble for greeting him. As the realization played out on his face, Josef smiled at him. There was a bizarre smugness to the look, as though he'd just won a game Aaron didn't know they were playing. He turned to face Sara again, eyes wide.</p><p>"I told you not to look," she sighed.</p><p>"Why is he staring at me?" Aaron asked, voice lowered just in case Josef could somehow hear him from across the cafeteria.</p><p>"Fuck if I know. He's just a little...weird sometimes." She took a sip of her milk. "Don't get me wrong, I don't think he's a bad person or anything like that. He's actually really nice and isn't ever, like, creepy to me." After a moment, she added, "Not on purpose, at least."</p><p>"Seems kinda creepy right now," Aaron muttered. Sara laughed.</p><p>"Yeah, well, it looks like you're the one on the receiving end of it now, so get used to it."</p><p>"He does that to other people?"</p><p>"Oh yeah. I don't know why, but he does. Maybe it's just an absent-minded thing, something he doesn't realize he's doing. It's definitely fucking strange though." The carton of milk, half-empty and sloshing, clattered on her tray as she set it down.</p><p>"So who was it last?" Aaron asked after a moment, slowly. He didn't want to seem <em>too</em> interested, but he was...flattered, in a way, by the attention. (The aforementioned way being that of a weird, unloved little kid.)</p><p>"You're looking at her," Sara muttered with a half-hearted smile. "You've dethroned me, man."</p><p>"Sorry to take him away from you," Aaron said with a weak laugh, hoping the blush on his cheeks wasn't obvious. If she noticed, she didn't say anything.</p><p>↭</p><p>"Aaron, do you wanna start?"</p><p>The voice broke his trance and Aaron jumped hard, a deep, raw ache springing up in his throat. He'd always felt fear in his neck first; the freezing, numb adrenaline through the legs and upward came next. He swallowed painfully and looked over at the therapist.</p><p>"We like to give new people the chance to share a bit about themselves and their story," the man said, lips curled in a smile that was too big for his face. "You don't have to share if you don't want to. It's just nice to get to know everyone and find ways that we can relate to one another."</p><p>Aaron nodded in agreement, body running on polite autopilot before the words even had a chance to process. Everyone in the room was looking at him, most with boredom and a few with tense focus, clearly hoping he'd change his mind and let them talk instead. He took a deep breath, trying to refocus for a moment and get his bearings again. His eyes drifted straight ahead.</p><p>On the center of the back wall, there was a large painting of a camellia flower. Eerie, how he couldn't seem to escape them even in here. It was a solid pattern, no flecks or stripes, and the color of old blood. He wondered if it had always looked that way or if age had faded the hue into something sepia and dusty. Right below the painting was the biggest chair in the room, currently unoccupied. It was some gaudy patterned, indestructible old seat, crushed in spots from years of wear. Next to it, a solitary box of tissues on a creaky wooden table, glossy with a protective coating so that no one could break off shards to kill themselves with. Given how this session was going so far, Aaron wouldn't blame them if they did.</p><p>Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the door creaked open. He turned to look on instinct and saw Josef walk in with a grin. He was wearing a maroon sweatsuit at least two sizes too big, different from what he'd worn at breakfast, and muttering apologies. In the hall, the aide who'd unlocked the door for him rolled her eyes as she let it close again. Josef strode over to the big chair without a second thought, flopping down into it with a sigh. He threw one leg over the arm and kept the other on the seat, looking awfully comfortable and casual for someone who'd just entered group therapy. He folded his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs as he looked around the room.</p><p>Aaron couldn't look away before Josef's eyes locked with his own. The direct eye contact was bizarre and unflinching, his smile softening into something warm and familiar. It made Aaron feel simultaneously comforted and unnerved; this guy was just <em>full</em> of dichotomic energy. Fittingly, Aaron couldn't tell whether he appreciated or hated the feeling.</p><p>The therapist cleared his throat and Aaron remembered why he was there.</p><p>Right. Okay. No takebacks.</p><p>"So, uh, hi. I'm Aaron. I'm 31. I tried to kill myself and messed it up, so...here I am." He cringed as soon as the words came out, feeling wholly fucking lame.</p><p>"What was happening in your life that led you up to that point? If you don't mind sharing, of course," the therapist said, showing his teeth again.</p><p>
  <em>(Read: I'm not gonna carry this whole conversation and we all want to know what kind of fucked up you are. Do tell.)</em>
</p><p>"I don't know, really." <em>Lie</em>. "Not a lot was going on."</p><p>
  <em>Except for his uncle's 62nd birthday that his mom insisted he come to, his whole family swarming him with questions about life, his uncle clapping him on the shoulder and saying, "Jeez, you're a big boy now, aren't ya?" and the never-ending questions and his breath was hot and his shirt didn't fully cover his gut and there was gristle stuck between his teeth and he never changed his hair gel, Aaron knew he didn't, knew that stink, he'd know it anywhere–</em>
</p><p>Fuck. No way. New plan.</p><p>"It must have been something," the therapist said and God, this guy really wouldn't leave it alone, would he?</p><p>"I don't know. I guess... that everything I'd been feeling for a long time was all built up and one day I just...couldn't do it anymore. I snapped, y'know? I, uh, took all of the medicine in my cabinet. The last thing I remember is laying down on my couch because the room was spinning. I guess I fell and made a lot of noise because when I woke up, I was in the hospital chugging charcoal paste before they pumped my stomach. And I just remember feeling so <em>disappointed</em>. I know I should have been grateful that someone noticed and my life was being saved, but I was mad. Like, I remember trying to figure out after which neighbor in my complex could have reported it so that I would know. So that next time, I could check that they were gone first. Not mess up again."</p><p>Silence for three ticks of the clock. <em>Tick, tick, tick–</em></p><p>"Do you still feel that way?"</p><p>"I don't know."</p><p>It was the most honest answer he'd given in days.</p><p>"I'm glad you're here," someone else spoke. Aaron looked over and saw Josef smiling at him, brows knit in sympathy (empathy?) as he cleared his throat. "I mean, it's good that you're still around with us all. There's no point in dying yet."</p><p>Aaron nodded politely and the group went on. A woman immediately went off on a tangent unrelated to Aaron's story about how her sister beat her when they were little. As hard as he tried, he couldn't focus on her words. He found himself staring at the floor, chewing his lip open as the conversation buzzed like static around him. Josef's phrase played on loop in his head, the only words he could focus on, a mantra of sorts.</p><p>
  <em>There's no point in dying yet.</em>
</p><p>The words were aspirin, promising and bitter in his mouth.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i have a dedicated blog just for this fic, located <a href="https://waxenbiteback.tumblr.com/wbbtrigs">here</a>. i'll be posting links to updates there, as well as inspiration and random thoughts on the story. feel free to check it out if you'd like!</p><p>thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are always deeply appreciated &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II. RECORDING ANGELS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>trigger warnings (with spoilers) for the chapter can be found <a href="https://waxenbiteback.tumblr.com/chaptrigs">here</a>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>"Yet?"</em> Sara asked, idly zipping and unzipping her sweatshirt. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"</p>
<p>"Shh!" Aaron put a finger to his mouth, pleading. Sara laughed out loud at the action and he, despite his best efforts, found himself also stifling a laugh.</p>
<p>"Who are you, my teacher? Besides, he's way over there. I'm 99% sure he can't hear," she said, finally taking a bite out of her fruit salad after a stern look from a lunch aide. She rolled her eyes as she stabbed the spork back into the mix.</p>
<p>"I don't think he meant for it to sound so creepy," he tried to explain, not even convincing himself with the words. Still, he pressed on. "I think he just meant, like, 'it isn't your time yet' or something."</p>
<p>"Still, that's a weird way to phrase it. I mean, I'm not saying he <em>meant</em> for it to be weird, but... I don't know. People usually just say, 'Glad you're alive. Dying sucks.'"</p>
<p>"Is that a direct quote?" he laughed. When she half-smiled and shook her head, he noticed how well her curls framed her jawline. He wanted to reach out and fix the stray curls that jutted off in the wrong direction. It made him feel...fluttery. He promptly crushed the feeling.</p>
<p>"I just wonder what's going on inside his head sometimes, y'know?" Sara sighed, picking a cherry out of the mix and popping it into her mouth. "He's strange. Not in a bad way, though. In a...charming way. Sort of. Do you know what I mean?"</p>
<p>Aaron nodded in agreement too quickly and noticed the little squint he got in return from her. There was no time to analyze what it meant before she continued.</p>
<p>"I mean, the staring for one thing. It <em>should</em> be fucking creepy, but something about it isn't. Almost like it's...purer than the way other people stare, somehow. Softer."</p>
<p>"Do you think it's like," Aaron leaned in and lowered his voice, "a crush thing?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," Sara shrugged. "I mean, I can't think of any <em>other</em> reasons why someone would stare longingly from a distance like that. Unless they were a serial killer or something," she laughed. "I guess you never know."</p>
<p>"Yeah, somehow I don't get serial killer vibes from him. He just seems...weird. Undersocialized, maybe?"</p>
<p>"Undersocialized and harboring a massive crush on you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. Something in her tone was quick, sharp. Almost cold. He didn’t understand <em>why.</em></p>
<p>“On us,” he corrected after a moment, hoping to alleviate some of the strangeness. “Harboring a massive crush on <em>us.”</em></p>
<p>“God, he’s probably overjoyed that we’re sitting together. He doesn’t even have to turn his head to look at us both. It’s a two-for-one.” She huffed out a laugh through her nose and took a sip of her water, all of the harshness melted away. He almost wondered if he’d imagined it, maybe been trying to paint her differently in his head. Somehow, she felt like...competition. Like he had to win the attention over her. But that wasn’t right, that didn’t make any sense–</p>
<p>He glanced over at the corner of the cafeteria and there Josef was, sipping a carton of orange juice and watching them. He locked eyes with Aaron for a moment and smiled before turning away, playing innocent. It made Aaron shudder a little, but he couldn't figure out <em>why. </em>He should have been freaked out (<em>obviously, of course, like any sane person would be</em>), and maybe he sorta was, but that weird, gnawing affection in his gut remained, all from being paid attention to. At being <em>noticed.</em></p>
<p>He felt like he was losing his fucking mind.</p>
<p>Aaron was a lonely guy. He'd admit that. He had people in his life, sure, but not anything <em>real. </em>There was a family that he mostly disliked, a couple of college buddies that he didn't talk to much, and a now-engaged ex-girlfriend from a few years back who insisted they "stay friends" but never called. As far as support systems went, Aaron's was lacking at best. Sometimes he thought that no one would even notice if he was gone. That maybe one day he’d break his neck, die on the floor alone, and they wouldn’t realize until his corpse began to stink that he was gone.</p>
<p>He floated by in life, most of the time. In and out of grocery stores, gas stations, drifting through it all, employees recognizing his face but never remembering his name. He was just that tall, quiet guy who stuck to corners and forced smiles when appropriate. Nice, but not memorable. Just sort of...there. After all, he was a wedding videographer, a professional observer, and non-participant. His <em>job </em>was to stand around, unnoticed, watching people live the best day of their lives every fucking day.</p>
<p>How could he not be a little flattered when someone didn't stare right through him?</p>
<p>↭</p>
<p>Activity therapy didn't suit Aaron.</p>
<p>He felt self-conscious as he drew, comparing everything on his page to that of the others around him. Even though he couldn't figure out why, he shook as he scratched out his drawing. The pencil's lead snapped more than once, tearing holes into the paper and resulting in aides having to come over and sharpen it again for him. By the end, the sides of his hands shone silver and the pencil was half the size it had been to start.</p>
<p>The prompt was to create a representation of something they disliked about themselves but to make it beautiful in the process. While everyone else got to work right away, Aaron spent the first five minutes of the session trying to come up with something. It wasn't that he didn't dislike anything about himself; on the contrary, he probably hated more about himself than most. He just couldn't think of anything that wasn't totally abstract and internal.</p>
<p>Eventually, he settled on his hands. He wasn't even really sure why he chose them; there was nothing wrong with them, per se. They were normal hands, if a little larger than average, with no noticeable flaws or abnormalities. There was a scar between the knuckles of his middle and ring finger on the right side, but even that was pretty minor. He'd hurt himself while pitching the tent at his old campground when he was little, scraping his hand on a metal stake. His uncle had come over and disinfected it while Aaron sobbed, reassuring him that it was going to be just fine. He stuck a bandage on it and did the rest of the setup, letting Aaron "recover" by eating marshmallows and reading comics by the fire pit.</p>
<p>It was so nearly a happy thought that when he saw the scar, it made his chest ache with nostalgia. Maybe that was why he chose his hands; they were the basis for every joyous childhood memory that was tinged with bile in the end.</p>
<p>Despite the poetics of the thought behind it, he fucked the drawing up beyond belief. It had been a stupid idea, going for something as complex as hands with little to no artistic talent to back it up. By the time he was done, it was just a grey wash of different graphite shades. He scowled at it for a moment before signing his name at the bottom with a huff of defeat.</p>
<p>"Hands, huh?"</p>
<p>The voice made Aaron jump, stabbing a dark line into the paper and breaking the pencil (<em>again</em>) in the process.</p>
<p>"Oh man, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you," Josef laughed, suddenly appearing in the seat next to Aaron. Had he really been so stuck in his head that he didn't notice Josef come over? "Seriously, my bad."</p>
<p>"Oh, no worries," Aaron said with an awkward chuckle, trying to water down the embarrassment. "I'm just jumpy."</p>
<p>"Understandable," Josef grinned, leaning an elbow on the table. He gestured at Aaron's drawing again. "So, hands?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Aaron nodded. "Hands." He was surprised Josef could tell what it was; <em>he</em> could barely recognize the subject, and it had been his idea in the first place.</p>
<p>"What's the story there?" he asked when Aaron didn't elaborate further. "Your hands don't look very hateable. Is it a deeper thing than that?" Josef looked at him with absolute sincerity, as if nothing was more important than what Aaron might say next. It made him uncomfortable.</p>
<p>"Oh, it's...kind of a long story," he shrugged, hoping the dismissive tone would make Josef leave it alone. It didn't.</p>
<p>"I don't mind long stories," he said, still looking closely at Aaron. He felt like he was being inspected, evaluated on some criteria he wasn't privy to. His body shook with the tension welling up. It made him want to scream.</p>
<p>"What's yours about?" Aaron asked, pointing at the paper in his hand. Josef squinted at him, noticing the diversion but letting it go. With a knowing smile, he set his drawing on the table and flattened the paper out.</p>
<p>The drawing consisted of deep, scratchy pencil strokes in the shape of gnashing teeth. Strokes of red were strewn haphazardly around the mouth, smudging the lead and blurring the lines. There were dots where the marker pressed in too hard, bleeding out and distorting the paper.</p>
<p>"It is...my temper," Josef said carefully, enunciating every syllable. In the top left corner was his name, signed in thick marker. The letters bled into one another, forming a barely legible glob of shiny red.</p>
<p>And Aaron remembered camellia crime scene blots, viscera teeth, sick blood and <em>cleanup cleanup cleanup–</em></p>
<p>"Hey, are you okay? You look a little pale," Josef said, flipping the paper over and tilting his head in concern. "Sorry if it was too much."</p>
<p>Aaron swallowed hard and shook his head, wondering distantly how Josef knew the drawing was the problem. "No, no, it's fine. It just...reminded me of something, I guess."</p>
<p>"Gotcha," he said, pushing the drawing to the side of the table. The still-wet marker left a red streak on the table. "I know the feeling. It's nothing to be embarrassed about, you know. We all have something like that; it's normal. As normal as we all can be, I guess."</p>
<p>Aaron wondered again how the fuck Josef had read him so easily.</p>
<p>"Right," he nodded, not knowing what to say next. The room chattered around them as Aaron averted his eyes, the silence between them stifling despite Josef's apparent nonchalance.</p>
<p>"And just so you know," Josef started after an odd amount of time passed. He took one of Aaron's hands and looked at it, running his eyes over the skin. Aaron couldn't pull away as Josef dragged a finger down the length of his scar. "You shouldn't hate your hands. I think they're kinda likable."</p>
<p>The aide announced that time was up and Josef pulled away quickly as everyone stood.</p>
<p>"Sorry, not supposed to touch," Josef muttered with a smile. He looked...embarrassed, almost. Aaron was, frankly, <em>floored</em>. The last time someone had blushed at the prospect of touching him was... Jesus, probably never. He couldn't even form any words before Josef was standing as well, grabbing his drawing off the table.</p>
<p>"See ya soon," he said before disappearing into the group. Aaron sat for another few seconds as the room emptied around him, still paralyzed by Josef's hands.</p>
<p>↭</p>
<p>"Jesus, seriously?" Sara raised her eyebrows as she stabbed a spork into her salad. "That's pretty bold. I mean, you can get in huge trouble for something like that."</p>
<p>"That's what I thought too," he said, staring at the table so as not to give away his excitement at the thought of someone risking trouble for him. Christ, he was sad.</p>
<p>"So what did you do?"</p>
<p>"I just...sat there. I didn't know what to do. I mean, what do you say in a situation like that?"</p>
<p>"Well, what was it like? I mean was it friendly or creepy or flirty or just weird?"</p>
<p>"All of the above?"</p>
<p>Sara laughed and picked a carrot out of the salad, setting it aside. "And was it good? For you, I mean?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. What counts as good?"</p>
<p>"Did it, like, soothe your soul? Change you as a man? End your life and begin in a new one, all within the same touch?" she said airily, eyes mock-dreamy. After a moment she snorted and took a drink of milk. "Fuck if I know what counts as good. I just meant...did it make you uncomfortable?"</p>
<p>Aaron stared down at his tray as he tried to come up with an answer, realizing that he truly didn't know how he felt about it. Sara must have sensed that because she set all of her utensils down, looking him in the eyes.</p>
<p>"Aaron, man, you're allowed to reject him. I know it's easy to get...infatuated with people in here even when it isn't a super good idea. But you're also allowed to like it, even if it's just for now. Only you know what you wanna do, but either way, you're allowed."</p>
<p>At the entrance to the cafeteria, a guy called her name from the doorway. She looked over at him and rolled her eyes before standing, tray in hand.</p>
<p>"Sorry, my nutritionist awaits," she sighed. After a moment, she turned to face him again. "But just so you know, no one's risked multiple days of solitary just to touch <em>my</em> hand before. It's pretty romantic. You know, in a mental hospital way."</p>
<p>He didn't know what to do except nod before she turned and left. The words looped in his head; he thought her advice would help, but it only left things murkier. All of the mixed signals were really starting to fuck with him. He felt like everything was becoming more unclear the longer he dwelled on it. </p>
<p>And yet set somehow, in the mess of thoughts, the one feeling that stuck out in his brain was that of victory. He felt he'd beaten her at some imaginary competition and it was so fucking stupid and juvenile to even consider that. She wasn't some object pitted against him. Sara was a person, a ridiculously nice and cool one at that, and he was just...himself. Maybe that's why he felt so special; he was inexplicably in first place.</p>
<p>In a race for some random, strange dude's affections.</p>
<p>In a psychiatric hospital.</p>
<p>Against a girl that he liked. A lot.</p>
<p>After being there for 24 hours.</p>
<p>God, that was stupid. Really stupid, in fact. Very, extremely, ridiculously–</p>
<p>"Hey, buddy!" Josef said, clattering his tray onto the table. He jumped hard, because how the <em>fuck </em>did this guy keep scaring him like this?</p>
<p>"Hi, Josef," he said quickly before any of the embarrassment could seep in. He sat up a little straighter, suddenly self-conscious about his posture. (And since when did he give a shit about his posture?)</p>
<p>"You remembered my name?" Josef said in a bizarre, touched tone. He thought he was making a joke at first, but he looked so genuinely surprised and flattered that he figured he was being serious.</p>
<p>"Yeah, of course," he said with a slight nod, doing his best to smile. A silence followed but, because Josef was around, it didn't last long. It was sort of a relief, actually; he liked not having to talk all that much. He'd always been more of a listener.</p>
<p>"Did you know that the name Aaron comes from the Hebrew Aharon?" Josef asked before downing his fruit cup in one go.</p>
<p>"I...didn't, no."</p>
<p>Josef smiled and tossed the cup back onto his tray, clearing his throat.</p>
<p>"It's been suggested, emphasis on the <em>suggested</em>, that it means 'high mountain' or 'exalted.' No one actually knows for sure where it came from though; that's just the theory for it having Hebrew roots. It's kind of mysterious. No one knows how it came to be a name because it's been around way, way too long for that," Josef said, never breaking eye contact. The words flowed effortlessly, no thought behind them, as if he hadn't just turned into a walking baby name website.</p>
<p>"How do you keep all of that information in your head?" he laughed, relaxing just a little. Despite how in his head he got about it, he really did just think Josef was a lonely, undersocialized guy, and he could relate to that.</p>
<p>"I just think names are interesting. They say a lot about people, you know? And I know that sounds like bullshit, but I really think it's true. Even when people change their names, there's something still inherent and meaningful about it. They're coming into a new, better version of themselves and choosing the name that they want to embody. And maybe it's always been in them, just waiting to come out. Our names are all we have sometimes. I think it's beautiful," Josef shrugged. Without missing a beat, he added, "What's your last name? I bet I can tell you about that one too."</p>
<p>"Franklin," Aaron answered before he could even consider what he was doing. The horror only struck him after the word hung in the air for a moment. He'd just given his last name, which they were <em>definitely not supposed to do</em>, to some stranger in a mental hospital. But...he trusted Josef with it, strangely. Besides, what was the worst he could do with that information? Add him on Facebook?</p>
<p>
  <em>(Break into his house in the middle of the night? Cut his head off? Spill his guts all over his sheets? Tie him up? Ra–)</em>
</p>
<p>"Aaron Franklin," Josef said with a nod, deep in thought. "That's a good name. I like it."</p>
<p>"Thanks?"</p>
<p>"Franklin is English, I think. Like, way, way English. Are you English, Aaron?"</p>
<p>"I honestly have no clue,” Aaron smiled, the conversation getting easier.</p>
<p>"You don't <em>look</em> English. Your teeth are nice, for starters.”</p>
<p>“God, you better hope there are no English people in here or you’re gonna get beat up,” he laughed. “I did have one fucked up tooth when I was a kid, but they fixed it. My left canine was super sharp. I used to hurt myself on it all the time.”</p>
<p>“You should have kept it,” Josef said, no longer smiling. “It’s a nice thought. Makes you look feral. Like a wolf.”</p>
<p>‽</p>
<p>
  <em>A dream.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His teeth are fucked. Everything is in black-and-white with a sepia wash like the old movies he watched with his grandmother. He's trying to eat his cereal but the spoon keeps clanking against his huge new teeth. The walls are filled with holes. A doily is on the table. The sink is running but it never overflows. He can’t eat his food. Something is wrong.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He stands and walks? floats? teleports? to the fridge. It’s glossy. The lights don’t come on when he opens it, but he can see just fine. He takes a cut of beef out and it oozes, dark and syrupy, through his fingers and dripdripdrips onto the linoleum. When he sticks it up to his mouth, the teeth part to let the meat in. He doesn’t taste it but his teeth gnash down on it, tearing it to pieces. There’s blood. He realizes it's his own when he runs his tongue over the shredded skin of his cheeks.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A dream. A nightmare.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Blood starts to pour out of his mouth and down his chest, landing in huge blotches on the floor below. It coagulates below him, forming into clots that pulse. Something is rising up his throat and he can feel it stretching out his esophagus. The pressure is burning and heavy and huge and he feels it ripping and ripping and ripping –</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There’s blood in his lungs and it pops with every heaving breath he takes and something crawls out of his throat and lands on the bloody mass below. The thing squirms and heaves in air, the breaths filled with liquidy little stops and starts.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It's a baby with an X marked in a rash on its bloated little stomach.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It screams and Aaron sees it already has teeth. Huge, gnashing, brutal teeth too big for its mouth.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Its left canine is too sharp.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They breathe in sync, popcorn blood catching in their lungs, and he sees himself and the baby from above. Spectator. Witness. Recording angel.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The Aaron below has claws now and he can feel the way they itchitchitch, ripping through his cuticles and the way they need.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, the baby. The baby the baby the baby the rash X but there’s nothing he can do, not from up here, not stuck to the ceiling like a mold leeching from it–</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>X marks the spot and the baby screeches and he can’t close his eyes, he can’t, he feels the rip and tear and the warmth and he hears a whisper, a loop, of</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>start digging. start digging. start digging.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There is nothing left that is not red.</em>
</p>
<p>‽</p>
<p>When he woke up, he was covered in sweat and restraints. Staff stood over him, muttering to one another. His throat burned as he gasped for air and he realized belatedly that he'd been screaming.</p>
<p>The door to his room was open and a few patients stood outside of it, watching him and whispering. Aides shooed them away, giving commands that he couldn't hear. The sweat dripped from his forehead and into his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and flicked droplets all over his lenses when he finally opened them.</p>
<p>He blinked over and over again until the burn dissipated, his chest still heaving as the aides asked him questions and checked his lucidity. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that one person remained outside of his door. He could see the security officers making their way over. Unable to focus on the questions being asked, he lolled his head to the side and watched the doorway.</p>
<p>Josef smiled at Aaron as the officers dragged him away.</p>
<p>Aaron smiled back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope you enjoyed! i'm not great with slowburns (as is probably obvious here) but i'm trying my best not to move TOO quickly. as always, comments and kudos are deeply appreciated!</p>
<p>feel free to hit me up on <a href="https://waxenbiteback.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>! thank you for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III. BLEACH UP</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as always, the chapter-by-chapter trigger list can be found <a href="https://waxenbiteback.tumblr.com/chaptrigs">here</a>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Do you have night terrors often, Aaron?"</p><p>"No, not really. I mean, I have nightmares, but not night terrors," Aaron muttered, shivering. The office was so cold compared to the rest of the unit; he made a mental note to bring his stringless hoodie next time, though he wasn't even sure if that would be enough. The doctor wore a cardigan over a sweater over a button-up shirt and he'd still bet her hands were freezing. He didn't understand why she didn't just turn the thermostat up.</p><p>"Do you have a lot of nightmares?" she asked, looking at him with a deep, almost excessive sympathy. The fluorescent overhead lights reflected on her glasses, painting out her pupils with bright white. She looked otherworldly, sort of, the lamp behind her forming a halo through her curls. God, why were there so many fucking lights in here?</p><p>"I guess. What counts as a lot?"</p><p>"I only have one or two a month, generally," she shrugged. He suppressed a laugh and tried to nod seriously. "Most people fall in that range, as far as I know."</p><p>"I definitely have more than that, yeah."</p><p>The whole space reeked of pine and citrus from the oil diffuser, bordering on too much. The diffuser had a rainbow pattern turned on, the glow almost invisible amongst all the other lights around it. The entire room was sensory overload. He'd bet people got migraines just from being near there.</p><p>"How many would you guess you have in a week?" she said, picking up the pen off the desk.</p><p>Aaron paused at that, looking at his fingers and counting silently. He actually couldn't remember a night where he <em>didn't </em>have at least one. For the sake of normality, he replied, "Four or five." When the lie started to gnaw at him (he'd always been a godawful liar) he added, "Or six. Sometimes seven."</p><p>"And what are they usually like?"</p><p>"Weird. Stressful. Violent, I guess." He picked at the skin on his fingers and winced as he went too deep.</p><p>"In what way are they violent?" Dr. Okonkwo set down the paperclip on her desk and looked at him hard like she was trying to unravel some mystery within him. He certainly wished her luck on that one.</p><p>"Bad stuff just always happens. Sometimes it's really gory and scary and sometimes it's just...distant. Like I know something awful is gonna happen but I never make it all the way through. Sorta like turning off a horror movie before it goes too far, but your imagination's already done the work."</p><p>"A lot of people who have frequent nightmares have had some sort of trauma in their past." </p><p>Aaron's eyes widened but he kept his head down. He knew where she was going with this.</p><p>"Their dreams manifest whatever they went through in some way or another and they relive it at night," she said softly. "Do you feel like that might be something happening in your case?"</p><p>He shook his head hard and cleared his throat. "No, I don't think so." A too-long pause. "Nothing like that's ever really happened to me." </p><p>
  <em>Horrible liar.</em>
</p><p>↭</p><p>Breakfast was already halfway over by the time Aaron got done with his appointment, no line remaining when he grabbed his tray. The server apologized profusely as he explained that the powdered eggs were gone. Aaron assured him that he wasn't broken up about it and accepted the offering of oatmeal instead.</p><p>When he turned around, he saw Josef leaning on the corner table where he always sat with Sara. She was looking up at Josef, her hair a faded purple mess, and laughing at something he said. Somehow, the way she looked at him made Aaron's gut twist. When Josef glanced in his direction, their eyes meeting for a split second, he stood up straight, said something to her, and left. It was all so casual and fluid, almost forced in its nonchalance. It felt...off. Like a charade. </p><p>Sara gave a bright grin as he walked over, messing with the zipper on her hoodie. She must not have noticed.</p><p>"Hi," she said, voice melodic and more enthusiastic than he'd heard her sound in days.</p><p>"Hey," he returned, trying to match her chipper energy. It didn't pan out, the word toneless, blank, strange. She didn’t react to that either. It must have been the appointment, the...implications, making him all hyperaware and judgey. He fucking tried to recenter himself, distance the doctor’s words from his head, go back to the start. Try again. <em>Chipper, Aaron. Fucking chipper.</em> "So what was that all about?”</p><p>"Oh," she said, glancing back at Josef with a smile. He was staring down at his tray alone in the corner, intensely focused on his orange juice. "He was walking by and I noticed he's wearing the <em>exact </em>same shirt my ex used to have. Like, seriously, down to the size and everything, I swear. So I stopped him and said something about it and we got talking. Such a weird coincidence."</p><p>Aaron couldn't force any words up and he felt sick with some horrible, panging ache, something he couldn’t quite place. It took him a moment before he recognized it as jealousy (and honestly, that was becoming a whole fucking theme in his time here). When he let himself think about it, <em>really </em>think about it, he realized that he wished <em>he </em>could be the one wearing her ex's shirt and making her do a double-take. Then she would point it out and they would laugh and talk and she would see pieces of someone she used to love in him and he would feel important. To just be a reflection of someone Sara could want… Aaron felt fucking stupid.</p><p>He didn't even know he thought about her in that way until he realized that someone else could too.</p><p>
  <em>(–like best friends, those two! Y'know, I used to worry so much about how he'd turn out without his dad around as much. He never used to talk to me, did you know that? Just sat around all quiet, playing his Nintendo. But now that he has Gary around, he won't shut up! He's such a clingy little thing too; I'm surprised Gary puts up with it. You caught a good one, Sally. You really did. And he's teaching Aaron so much about the outdoors! Honestly, sometimes I wonder if he even really cares about the camping or if it's just an excuse to be around Gary. Two peas in a pod, those guys. And hey, either way, he's out of my hair! By the way, Pam told me–)</em>
</p><p>"What's wrong?" Sara asked, making Aaron jump and stab his spork through the styrofoam bowl. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."</p><p>"Nothing!" Aaron replied, his voice cracking from the attempt at pseudo-cheer. "I just got lost in thought, I guess."</p><p>"Are you sure?" Sara asked, leaning in and lowering her voice like this was a secret to be kept. She looked at him with such genuine concern that it made his chest ache. He felt less stupid by the second, every moment spent looking at her making his feelings seem more and more reasonable. God, he had it bad.</p><p>"I'm okay, yeah. I promise."</p><p>The words felt real enough. He hoped he wasn't lying.</p><p>↭</p><p>Sara had been the one to find the body. Around noon, maybe one, there was a scream in the hall and when the staff came out, there she was. Back pressed to the wall, breathing so hard that her chest stretched with the force, just staring into the room. Her skin was about two shades too light, colorless and clammy. There were no tears on her face, no snot, nothing. Just terror. When her eyes went glassy and she wouldn't answer their questions, some aides dragged her off somewhere.</p><p>No one knew how the lady had gotten into the piano room without a key. There was no sign of the door being forced open, nor were any staff keys missing. On the body, there was nothing that could have been used to pick the lock. She latched it behind her before she did the deed. Only one thing was out of the ordinary in the room (aside from the corpse) and it was just a little slip of construction paper with a big, red heart scribbled on it. The thing could have been anyone’s.</p><p>The lady’s name was Patricia. He’d never spoken to her, though he’d seen her around and been in a few groups with her. She was quiet generally, never one for starting conversations but always happy to participate when one involved her. Her whole demeanor was soft, kindly, odd but in a way one could find charming, like some eccentric poodle breeder in a movie. She was 59, a year too young for the elderly unit, and spoke often about her concerns that bees would get into the unit and sting everyone.</p><p>They sent everyone to their rooms once Sara was taken away. Patricia was hanging from the ceiling by her bedsheets, the thick cotton slung over a beam and barely supporting her weight. She was blue in the face, tongue lolling out of her mouth, nearly severed from her jaw's spasming, blood mixing with the foam. Deep scratch marks littered her neck as if she'd desperately tried to undo the noose when it was already too late. Her body swung gently in the air, every movement affecting her light frame. It was fucking horrifying. There was no doubting that Sara's reaction was justified.</p><p>When they looked in Patricia's room, they found strips of fabric still stuck to her mattress. Seams were ripped and frayed, making it clear that she had to tear them up to remove them from the mattress. No one should have been able to do that without a tool, they said, but Aaron wasn't sure he believed it. The sheets were cheap and thin and seemed like they'd shred from nothing more than a sharp look. He figured that bit was so they could cover their asses in the event of a lawsuit.</p><p>Aaron sat on the floor the second they sent him to his room, the carpet burning his hands as he scrambled to his door. He'd had a lifetime of practice, ever the nosy child, always listening in on grown-up conversations. He felt small again as he pressed his ear to the doorframe.</p><p>She was missing her wedding band, the only piece of jewelry she came in with. It was thin, gold, and not pokey enough to be confiscated. They said it was worth leaving her with as a positive reminder of what waited on the other side of recovery. She'd been wearing it her entire stay; she spoke fondly and often of her dead husband. From what Aaron had heard, he was the one who had checked her in a week ago and visited every day since. He was, quite decidedly, not even a little bit dead, but she loved him either way. Aaron thought was sweet, in a strange sense; whether in the imaginary coffin or right in front of her, she adored her husband. That was pure love, he thought.</p><p>Paramedics came and rolled the corpse away soon after. The staff made a plan to search her room for the ring and whispered about how fucked they were. This was not going to reflect well on their performance reports.</p><p>Eventually, they let everyone out of their rooms and had a big meeting to talk about what had happened (in terms so gentle and vague that it felt silly) and to encourage the patients to seek out support if they needed it. This was a tragic loss, we're all going to miss Patricia, she was a good lady, bees had never been and still were not a concern–</p><p>Sara wasn't back yet.</p><p>Aaron figured they'd put her somewhere quiet and intensive to get her through the trauma of it all. He imagined her with a huge shock blanket wrapped around her shoulders, sipping hot lemon tea and staring blankly at the wall. He hoped she was okay, wherever she was. The same feeling applied to Patricia, whose face he tried not to imagine warped and blue from the noose. Christ, this was fucked.</p><p>Dinner was served as usual, but no one seemed very eager to eat. It was a shame too; dinner was actually decent for once. Aaron picked at his mashed potatoes and watched the dinner line dwindle. As everyone went to their seats, a strange lull fell over them all. The chatter in the room was soft but frantic, full of hissed syllables and throat clearing. A girl, Gemma, seemed to be the main gossip of the batch. The aides would tell her anything if she looked at them right; one of the advantages to being unreasonably pretty. Word spread quickly here.</p><p>"It's so sad, huh?" Josef asked, opening his milk carton. Aaron jumped and knocked over the (thankfully almost empty) juice box on his tray.</p><p>"How the <em>fuck </em>do you keep doing that?" Aaron squeaked, burning bright with shame at his reaction.</p><p>"Light on my feet," Josef grinned.</p><p>"Can you please just...give me some warning next time?" he said, something akin to anger building in his chest. He took a deep breath, willing some calm into his body. He'd never coped well with being scared.</p><p>"Sure, yeah, absolutely." Josef took a loud sip of milk through his straw. "I have a bad habit of sneaking up on people and scaring them. I don't <em>mean </em>to, it just happens," he sighed. "I'm genuinely sorry, though. It won't happen again."</p><p>It seemed a real enough apology, so Aaron nodded in acceptance. (Not to imply that he wouldn't have accepted it otherwise; he always was kinda spineless. One of his many faults, he thought.)</p><p>"It's okay, man." Aaron wasn't entirely sure that it was.</p><p>"For real. I'm sorry," Josef said with a concerned half-smile. "You looked like you wanted to tear me apart for a second there though, not gonna lie."</p><p>"Did I?" Aaron asked, suddenly filled with self-consciousness and fear and shame and remorse– why <em>remorse? </em>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"Hey, don't apologize for it. You're human, Aaron, and humans are all just animals. It's a defense mechanism. Nothing wrong with keeping yourself safe." Josef shrugged and took a bite of his dinner. He lacked the hesitation that everyone else around them was eating with. "Where's Sara, by the way?"</p><p>And the streak of jealousy that pulsed through Aaron had to be the stupidest thing yet. He didn't know what it was about Josef; the guy made him feel so fucking strange and base. Aaron didn't feel <em>jealous. </em>He couldn't survive that way. He couldn't work or talk to old friends or look at his phone or even <em>think </em>if jealousy was an option. And yet there he was, across from some random dude in a mental hospital, his chest aching from the idea of not being the only thought in this guy's head. Hours before, he thought he hated the guy for being that person for Sara. He didn't know which one of them made him feel worse. It was fucking ridiculous.</p><p>(But far from unfounded, right? Jealousy is learned, keeps you safe, keeps you from being the one thrown out, can't let them move on from you or you aren't safe anymore and that can't happen because you need him need him need him he loves you <em>never grow up, okay? Never grow up or he won't want you anymore–</em>)</p><p>"She was the one who found the body," he said, not recognizing his voice.</p><p>"Wow, really?" Josef sighed and put his utensils down. He crossed his arms on the table. "God, that's horrible. I can't even imagine."</p><p>Aaron couldn't think of a response in time. Luckily, Josef was happy to fill the silence himself. </p><p>"You know, my grandpa killed himself when I was a little kid. I mean, not <em>little </em>little; I was 12. My sister was the one who found the body. He was all slit up in the bathtub. Left the faucet running, so when she stepped into the room there was bloody water all over the floor. It got on her little white bathrobe she brought in."</p><p>"How old was she?" Aaron asked, allowing the jealousy to fade away and be replaced by horror at the story.</p><p>"Seven," he sighed. "She didn't even know what was happening. She just yelled for my mom and said grandpa let the bathtub overflow. When my mom came in and saw him, all pale and empty and kinda floating, her first instinct was to puke. Then she fell to the floor, covered in her own vomit and her father's blood, and wailed. She <em>wailed, </em>Aaron. I've never heard anyone cry like that since. And I just stood there...and watched. I didn't know what else to do. I stayed so still."</p><p>Josef continued to eat normally, unfazed by the story. <em>He's probably had to say it to staff a million times</em>, Aaron thought. <em>That would desensitize anyone.</em></p><p>"Was your sister okay after all of that?" he said carefully, not wanting to ruin the lull of the moment. He found he strangely enjoyed listening to Josef ramble and didn't want it to end, even if the story was enough to turn him off of what little appetite he'd had.</p><p>"After a while she was okay. She had nightmares, though. For a long, long time she dreamt of that moment almost every night. Little things would be different; the amount of blood, the room it was in, how far into decomposition he was. But it was always the helplessness of that moment," he said, setting his spork down. He'd eaten everything except for the chicken on his tray. "She had night terrors too."</p><p>"Yeah?" Aaron asked after a moment, a distant memory of Josef smiling at him making its way into his head. He thought he'd dreamed it.</p><p>"I know what it's like, you know. The night terrors. I've seen them a thousand times. Truly, I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy." Josef leaned back in his seat. Aaron fidgeted as Josef dissected him with a dark stare. The room felt tight. "I wish I could tell you it gets better."</p><p>↭</p><p>They brought her back half an hour before lights out. Josef saw her coming and excused himself, standing up from the couch. He watched over his shoulder, trying not to make his stare obvious. Josef said something to her and she smiled and nodded. She said something back and he crossed his arms, nodding. The conversation didn't last long. After a second, he reached out to touch her shoulder before catching himself. They laughed and she said something soft, kind, and he nodded again. When he turned away, he met Aaron's eyes and stayed that way for just a second. Josef never stopped smiling as Sara made her way over. Aaron looked away as quickly as he could, knowing he'd been caught.</p><p>She sat down cross-legged next to him, pulling her sweatshirt sleeves down to cover her fingers. She sighed and looked over, giving a weak smile.</p><p>"Hey," she said.</p><p>"Hey," was Aaron's automatic reply.</p><p>A tense silence wrung between them. She cleared her throat.</p><p>"So what was that little staring contest all about?" she asked. He thought she hadn't noticed.</p><p>"I don't know. Guess you're his favorite again." Aaron had meant to take a playful tone but the words came out acidic. He tried to cover it up with a chuckle.</p><p>"Well, for the record, I don't want to be." She picked at the last remnants of nail polish on her fingers. "Guys always do that to me. I fucking hate it."</p><p>"Do what?" Aaron asked, keeping the bitterness from his voice this time. He needed to get his emotions in check.</p><p><em>It's just the hospital, </em>he thought. <em>It's a place for being emotional and letting it all out. I'm just full of pent-up shit. It's nothing personal.</em></p><p>"Choose me," she huffed as if there was nothing worse in the world than being liked. "They look at me and they see someone they can obsess over. Someone who'll make them better. Someone who'll just sit there and take it. Maybe it's the hair." She chuckled, but the sound was miserable. "I'm everyone's little fantasy girl, but not anyone's real girl, you know?"</p><p>And Aaron didn't understand a word of what she was saying but he nodded anyway because he wished he did. </p><p>"And the worst fucking part is that I <em>am. </em>I'll be their fantasy<em>. </em>I'll be whatever they want me to be. I've never been good at saying no. I wanna fix everyone and everyone wants to fix me and it just feeds itself because it doesn't know what else to do. Like a dog that caught its own tail. And if anyone said the word I'd do it because I'm broken and stupid and– and–" </p><p>Tears were welling up in her eyes and Aaron didn't know what to do. He was never good with the emotions of other people. He preferred to wait them out and join back in when things were calm. Aaron did better that way.</p><p>She just discovered a fucking <em>corpse</em>, though. In the<em> mental hospital. </em>And now she was on the verge of sobbing and it was fucked and he had to do something.</p><p>So he glanced around the room and reached a careful hand out, running a thumb over the nails hidden by her sleeve. She sniffled and hesitated, looking up at him with obvious distrust. Her eyes were huge and watery though, something in them desperate for the comfort while simultaneously pushing it away.</p><p>Like a kicked puppy.</p><p>He wrapped his hand around hers, cold skin meeting his own under her sleeve. When he gave it the slightest squeeze, she sniffled and smiled. Her hands were unbelievably soft and small. Aaron felt like he could break her with one wrong move, so he kept as still as he could.</p><p>Over her shoulder and across the room, Josef was staring without expression. When their eyes met, he put on a bright smile and gave him a thumbs up.</p><p>When Josef thought he had looked away, the smile fell along with his hand, and something like hate emerged.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry that this update took so long, but i hope you enjoyed regardless! i'll try to be a little quicker in the future, but hey, at least there won't be any year-long hiatuses this time. thank you for reading! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV. DUES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as always, you can find chapter TWs <a href="https://waxenbiteback.tumblr.com/chaptrigs">here</a>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You have something brewing under there, huh?" Josef asked, gliding a marker smoothly over his coloring page. Aaron looked at his own and sighed, noticing all of the tiny spots where the ink bled over the lines.</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to fill in another portion of the page. His fingers shook and he fucked it up again. He crumpled up the page and capped the marker.</p>
<p>"What are you in here for?" Josef didn't even look over as he changed the subject. He continued to slowly, perfectly fill in the page. Red stained the side of his finger; he held it tight, nearly at the nib.</p>
<p>"Uh, lots of stuff I guess," he shrugged, grabbing a new page. He grabbed a box of crayons out of the art bin.</p>
<p>"Well yeah, but your chart doesn't say 'Aaron Franklin: Lots of Stuff,' does it?"</p>
<p>"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen it."</p>
<p>"Touché," Josef said, looking over at Aaron and grinning. Aaron pretended not to notice as he opened the box. The crayons were brand new– off-brand, but new nonetheless. He took out a pink one and started scribbling in a segment of the butterfly's wing. "Seriously though, what's your story?"</p>
<p>"It's...long. Arduous."</p>
<p>"Ooh, human thesaurus Aaron! See, now I know something new about you. That's all I want." The way he said the words was strangely sad. It made Aaron feel bad.</p>
<p>The more time he spent around Josef, the less he understood about him. He'd thought at first that Josef was just kinda strange. Weird, but nice and altogether harmless. And Aaron still felt like that was the truth most of the time. At the art table, it certainly was.</p>
<p>Sometimes though, things felt different. He'd catch Josef looking at him like he wanted to fucking <em>devour</em> him. Chew him up, spit out his bones, hang his intestines up like streamers, etc, etc. Stared like he'd resuscitate him after all of that just to do it again. And Aaron didn't understand <em>why.</em></p>
<p>(<em>"It is...my temper," Josef had said, holding up the gnashing teeth, exposing blood red stains on the tabletop from his markers. Josef seemed the type to always press a little too hard, just hard enough that it fucked a tiny thing up without the rest going too.)</em></p>
<p>Least of all, he couldn't understand why he still sat around Josef. Aaron never pushed him away, never lied and said a seat was taken when it wasn't, never did anything except acquiesce to him. No, that wasn’t entirely true– he <em>encouraged </em>it. Engaged in the conversation, accepted the occasional compliment, laughed at some of Josef's jokes.</p>
<p>Aaron tried to convince himself that it was just a matter of manners; anyone who was polite would let the guy sit by them. There was nothing wrong with talking to someone who was clearly lonely, even if he was strange. It was the kind thing to do. Plus he told solid jokes sometimes; why wouldn't Aaron laugh? And yeah, maybe he shouldn't have been so open to the compliments, but what was the harm in feeling good about yourself once in a while? Aaron wasn't doing anything another person wouldn't have done. It was normal.</p>
<p>
  <em>(And he certainly did not ever think of Josef's fingers running across his scar, didn't think about the way his entire body had frozen and focused in on only the touch, didn't think about all of the other scars on his body and Josef's fingers on those too, didn't think about the fear of touch while at the same time needing it, aching for it, red ink-stained berry-stained fingers out in the woods and the dichotomous boyman boyman–)</em>
</p>
<p>“What do you want to know?”</p>
<p>Josef smiled wide at that and leaned a little further into Aaron’s personal space. There was a hint of pride in his voice when he spoke.</p>
<p>“What happened to get you put in here? Like, what <em>exactly</em>?”</p>
<p>Aaron didn’t feel much like he was alive at that moment, so he had no trouble answering the question while on mental autopilot. He’d already explained it a thousand times before.</p>
<p>“I took all of the medicine in my cabinets. My neighbor must have heard the noise of me falling or something because I woke up in the hospital getting my stomach pumped.”</p>
<p>“I know <em>that,</em>” Josef said, squinting at Aaron. “You explained it in group. What made you take the pills?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” The lie was practiced and quick. Josef saw right through it.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Josef sighed, standing up. “You don’t have to tell me if you aren't comfortable."</p>
<p>And Aaron <em>knew </em>that was manipulation on full display without a hint of subtlety, but the guilt still rushed in. He felt like he was dealing with a little kid, the kind who said, "I'm never gonna talk to you again if you don't tell me!" when there was a secret they wanted in on. The kind of kid who was so obviously awful that you didn't know whether to laugh or play along with that twinge of pity in your gut.</p>
<p>But Aaron was always that opposite little kid, just as dumb and obvious and needy, desperate for the friendship. So ready to do whatever it takes to make them stay: share the secret, spoil the present, avoid the tattle, <em>anything</em> to prove he was cool enough. Worthy enough. Good enough.</p>
<p>Good enough has always been the degradation of instinct, third thought best thought, biting tongues and teeth and knuckle mosquito bites and the soft <em>"Good boy, Aaron. Such a good boy–"</em></p>
<p>"It was around the anniversary that something bad happened to me," Aaron blurted out, clenching and unclenching his anxious fists. The world around him moved too quickly, his brain unable to keep up with his eyes as his vision swam, punctuated with frantic dashes to the left and right and left and right. He couldn't orient himself, confusion setting in, and it took him a moment to realize that Josef had stopped walking away.</p>
<p>"Oh?" Josef said, turning around. He gave Aaron a sad little smile, brows furrowed in concern. Something feral stabbed underneath the soft look and Aaron held back a shudder. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."</p>
<p>And Josef turned around and disappeared behind the corner, leaving Aaron alone at the big round table and something was <em>wrong.</em></p>
<p>So wrong, time went so quickly and everything was the wrong color, except that it <em>wasn't, </em>it wasn't, and Aaron knew somewhere within that he was to blame, that he had broken something unbreakable and would pay the price, he would <em>pay–</em></p>
<p>Fucking gnashing teeth and whiskey in those mosquito bites and the scraping and oil and the crunch of a tent with the rhythm, slow for a second then fastfastfast and there were wolves outside, wolves back then wolves in here and his legs <em>ached </em>from running always running and there it was, there it was, that twinge in his gut that said <em>oh you like it, you've always liked the chase, you've always liked the scrape–</em></p>
<p>He was going to pay his dues. It was time.</p>
<p>Something was very wrong.</p>
<p>↭</p>
<p>
  <em>A dream.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He is on a scratchy rug in front of a fireplace. The walls are covered with photos of people he doesn't know, but they make him feel safe anyways. There is only the dim glow from the fire in the room. He can't turn around, but he knows there's nothing behind him. It's safe.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There is a big bottle of rye whiskey on the mantle and Aaron knows what has to happen, what is going to happen, what is always happening. It's here.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He knows when he hears boots plodding up the stairs that it's time. Everything is safe in here. It is all okay. It was always going to be.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The door opens with a labored squeal. He always said he would oil it. He said it for ten years and it never happened. Now, it never would. Aaron was glad the door would die noisy. He never shut it up, just like he never shut Aaron up. Not all the way.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>No words are exchanged. He sees that old flannel and stands up straight, grabbing the bottle by its neck. Neither say a thing; this is the way it was always going to be. They both know it. Everything is safe here.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Aaron dumps the whiskey all over himself. It doesn't burn the way it used to even though he's small again. There are no bites. No scratches. No lesions. It's all okay. He pours extra on his left hand and it feels silky, somehow. Like the shit in those old tubes used to.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Gary– and Aaron realizes he's never called him that before– gives him the softest smile. He knows what needs to happen. Aaron doesn't have to feel guilty. He knows.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>So Aaron sticks out a finger and points at the fireplace. On cue, a wayward spark makes contact with his hand and everything is set in motion. He can't feel the flames, knows they should hurt, doesn't wonder why they don't. This place is safe. He's so warm. The flames lick across his chest and build up before they extend down his right arm at last. When they do, he takes a step forward and presses his palm to the flannel. It lights up instantly, crackling and melting the polyester.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Gary starts screaming and he must have forgotten the agreement because he starts to beg, voice cutting through the hiss of the fire. Polyester is gluing to his skin, burning black and plastic and fusing to him, and when he reaches a pleading hand out Aaron hears the fabric and skin crunch.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He's trying to make it bad, trying to make Aaron take it back, trying to say he's sorry with all the breath left in his lungs. He is never sorry. Not all the way. The pleas continue though, and Aaron knows that he is trying to ruin it all. He is trying to ruin Aaron.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But this was never a nightmare.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The screams stop once the fire makes it to his face, breathing in the flames as he gasps for help and obliterating his vocal cords in the fray. Soon the only sounds coming out of him are those of the flames hissing and popping from the inside out.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>This is the way it was always going to be.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Aaron's dog teeth stretch into a smile.</em>
</p>
<p>‽</p>
<p>"He's waking up," someone whispered. He heard a sink running and a pen scratching on paper across the room, a strange echo to it all.</p>
<p>Aaron held his breath and opened one eye cautiously. In the corner, a nurse in scrubs sat at a small table with a file open in front of him. The room wasn't his own; it was far brighter, more clinical. The left wall was lined with shiny grey cabinets, each with its own padlock dangling from the handle. He stretched out a bit and winced at the throbbing in his temples. The whole room reeked of sanitizer.</p>
<p>"Hey Aaron," said the other person in the room. He recognized it as one of the floor aides on their unit. When he opened his other eye, he instantly noticed her long red braids. Flecks of orange were woven in, peeking out from behind the red like flames and suddenly, he remembered everything. "How did you sleep?"</p>
<p>The warmth spread over his skin again, the aura of safety returning and enveloping him. Aaron had <em>won, </em>even if just this once. He won, fair and square.</p>
<p>
  <em>I am going to tell on you.</em>
</p>
<p>"Great," he returned, unable to stop the dog tooth smile that spread even in his waking hours.</p>
<p>↭</p>
<p>"Aaron!" Sara said, hopping up from her seat. He could tell that she suppressed an instinctual hug in the way her arms twitched towards him. The appreciation he felt ran deep, deeper than anything he'd felt in a long time. It was like he was a new person, experiencing everything again for the first time. "How are you doing?"</p>
<p>"I'm okay," Aaron said with a smile. He sat down across from her before adding, "Way better, actually. Way better."</p>
<p>Sara's nails were much shorter than he remembered them being. It looked like she'd bitten them down, slight scabs lining the cuticles where she'd bled. He wondered if it had something to do with him (and immediately felt silly and self-centered for thinking such a thing. It didn't stop him from hoping.)</p>
<p>"I was so worried. Josef was too. I mean, you were acting fucking <em>weird, </em>no offense."</p>
<p>"I...don't remember any of it," he said, staring down at the speckled tabletop and studying the pattern. He hoped to God he didn't do anything embarrassing.</p>
<p>"Do you want to hear about it?" Sara asked, looking at him intently. "Or do you want me to leave it alone?"</p>
<p>"No, I want to know. I think." In his peripheral vision, he could see Josef observing the conversation. He tried to ignore it; he was getting used to being watched.</p>
<p>"You just came out of art therapy and looked...lost, I guess. All glassy-eyed. You went and sat down in the library corner but I think you were on autopilot because you didn't do anything over there. You didn't even look at the books. There was something you kept muttering, too. Just staring at the wall in that tiny chair– which looked uncomfortable as hell, by the way– and whispering, 'I can't tell.' Over and over, you just kept saying it. 'I can't tell. I can't tell. I can't tell.'"</p>
<p>Aaron had assumed that once he heard about what happened, it would all come back to him. None of that was familiar, though. He felt like somehow else had taken him over, dragging him through the motions. He told Sara as much.</p>
<p>"I'm not surprised. I mean, you were <em>gone. </em>I was going to go over and try to talk to you, but Josef said it would be better to just wait and see if you 'snapped out of it,'" she said, punctuating her sentence with air quotes. "Eventually I got sick of watching you just sitting there losing your shit, so I told someone to check on you. Then they took you away and bam! You're back here, watching me drink juice like you do every day."</p>
<p>Aaron smiled and nodded, swatting away thoughts about how he wouldn't mind <em>continuing </em>to do that every day, maybe every day for the rest of his life, maybe he could just die sitting across from her, listening to her talk and drink and laugh–</p>
<p>"Did I miss anything good?" Aaron asked, changing the subject. Sara just shrugged.</p>
<p>"Not really. I saw Marty's granddaughter when I was in the visitation room and she was adorable, but that's about it."</p>
<p>"Cute," he said absentmindedly, knowing that he was dodging the real conversation he needed to have.</p>
<p>
  <em>(I'm going to tell on you, I'm going to tell on you, I'm–)</em>
</p>
<p>Sara shifted in her seat, the awkward silence hanging heavy over them. Before he even knew what he was doing, Aaron asked, "Do you think he hates me?"</p>
<p>(And that was <em>not </em>what he wanted to say but there it was, in the open air, a question he didn't even know he <em>had.</em>)</p>
<p>Sara knitted her brows together and tilted her head to the side, setting her drink down. She cleared her throat. "Who?"</p>
<p>"Him," Aaron said automatically, nodding over at Josef. Realization dawned on Sara's face and she looked...hurt, almost.</p>
<p>"You got it bad, huh?" she said with a laugh, covering something else in her throat.</p>
<p>Aaron realized, with a sudden guilt splitting his ribs, that she might want Josef too. </p>
<p>–and the admission in his '<em>too' </em>caught Aaron by similar surprise. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry," Aaron whispered, although he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Sara didn't look like she knew either but responded with a soft nod anyway.</p>
<p>"He doesn't hate you."</p>
<p>"Are you sure?" Aaron asked, voice so much smaller than he'd intended. There was such <em>pity </em>in Sara's eyes and he felt–</p>
<p>
  <em>(kicked puppy eyes, had them forever, he knew, always told him some people were born hurting, born to hurt, born to be hurt, a natural order–)</em>
</p>
<p>sick.</p>
<p>"Have you ever noticed how he doesn't talk to both of us at the same time?" Sara leaned in conspiratorially, dark rings under her eyes caught in shadow. She looked like a ghost and Aaron wondered if maybe, deep inside, she was.</p>
<p>He felt like there had been a time where she was alive, blood bright and with shiny teeth she used to chew whatever she wanted. Maybe a time when she wasn't hard edges and knife-joints, when she laughed and cried and <em>felt things, </em>felt everything. Aaron wondered who had changed her, made her into something so serious and gaunt and afraid.</p>
<p>Afraid.</p>
<p>"I wonder, sometimes, if he's a different person with both of us," Sara continued. "Or if he's a different person with everyone. Maybe he doesn't want us to figure it out. Maybe he doesn't want to get caught."</p>
<p>"Caught?" Aaron asked, unable to give any further reply than the parroting. His brain wasn't ready for this yet, not recovered enough from the day? night? week? prior. Time was thick and the texture of half-set gelatin, quaking at the slightest movement, and Aaron could feel every shiver within it.</p>
<p>"Yeah, like he doesn't want his different personas to be found out or whatever. Some people are a million people, I think." Sara sighed and leaned back in her seat. Aaron counted the green flecks in the plastic tabletop, trying to keep himself grounded. She opened her mouth to say something else, maybe an apology, judging by her expression, but was cut off by a voice in the doorway yelling for her.</p>
<p>"Oh shit, that's my nutritionist." She stood up from the table and looked at him again. "I'll be right back, okay?"</p>
<p>With that, she was gone and Aaron was alone at the table. He did his breathing square exercises, tried to find one thing he could interact with for each sense, anything to keep his mind from floating away. Hyperaware of his surroundings, Aaron finally managed to notice Josef coming up to him. He still flinched when the chair Josef pulled up scraped on the tile.</p>
<p>"Hey buddy," Josef greeted with a smile. "Are you doing alright? You were looking pretty rough yesterday."</p>
<p>"I'm going to tell on him," Aaron blurted out.</p>
<p>"Okay. I, uh, don't know what that means," Josef said, still grinning through the confusion.</p>
<p>"I need to tell you something. Somewhere private," Aaron muttered, looking at the wall to the left of Josef's head.</p>
<p>"Okay… Uh, do you want to go to the library corner maybe? That's about as private as it gets here," Josef explained, although Aaron didn't need the clarification. Rather than point that out, Aaron just gave a soft nod. He'd been planning on telling his therapist, his doctor, maybe even Sara ahead of Josef, but–</p>
<p>When Josef stood and smiled, kind and gentle, Aaron couldn't help but to follow suit.</p>
<p>
  <em>I'm going to tell on you.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you so much for reading, and i hope you've enjoyed! the next chapter is going to be pretty heavy, so buckle up for that. comments and kudos are much, much appreciated &lt;3</p>
<p>find me on tumblr <a href="https://waxenbiteback.tumblr.com">here</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V. O DYMPHNA!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>note: this chapter contains content that could potentially be very triggering to SA survivors. please check the TWs <a href="https://waxenbiteback.tumblr.com/chaptrigs">here</a>. </p><p>i will put a summary of all major plot points at the end of you'd like to skip the bulk of this. if so, feel free to head straight to the "↭" symbol afterwards to catch the ending. your mental health comes first and foremost here!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Aaron's left shin there was a deep scar, long since faded white. There were so many blackberry brambles near Lake Gregory at the highest point of summer. He'd stained his fingers deep red countless times as a kid, plucking berries off of the shrubs and nicking himself on the thorns.</p><p>He was a Boy Scout once, though only for a summer. They went camping out by the lake and learned how to identify edible plants in the area, gathering what they could find to earn badges. The troop leader told him that he was a natural, and he remembered bragging about it to everyone he knew when the retreat was over. When he got pulled from Scouts, he begged his mom to take him camping again. She'd never been the outdoorsy type, so she asked around the family to find someone who'd take him. Uncle Gary, who loved fishing and hiking more than anything else, was happy to take him. </p><p>It became their thing. Without his dad around, everyone seemed to think it was important that he bond with a man, find someone he could look up to. Once a month the two would go out near Crestline and set up their campsite. Uncle Gary always brought the ingredients for s'mores. He'd give him new magazines to read while they were out there and buy him as many bottles of orange soda as he wanted. There was one trip where he got his first Swiss Army knife and spent the rest of the day sawing through sticks and cutting through rope knots he tied. When he got to use the bottle opener on Uncle Gary's beer, he remembered feeling such pride at being useful. Aaron felt like a grown-up when he was with his uncle, like he was big and skilled and <em>valuable.</em></p><p>When he was eight, he had his first drink out there in the woods with his uncle. It was bitter, disgusting, cheap beer and he almost spit it out. Through his cringing, he looked up at his uncle who laughed and patted him on the back as he swallowed. "Atta boy!" he laughed, clinking their bottles together and taking another swig. He forced down another sip too, grinning at his uncle in wonder.</p><p>His uncle whispered to him once at Thanksgiving that Aaron was his favorite of all the children. Uncle Gary's eyes lit up whenever he walked into the room and he'd always pat the spot next to him. Aaron would sit on the couch and try to listen to the adult conversations, but he dozed off every time. Then he'd wake up for a second, time hazy and thick, as his uncle carried him off. Uncle Gary would set him on one of the beds and ruffle his hair before returning to the main room. He would drift back to sleep in the cold bed, basking in an unfamiliar sense of love.</p><p>One night, the air at the lake was different. The plants, which should have been strong and fragrant, cast little scent into the air. Fewer bugs seemed to chirp and buzz around the fire, though there were plenty of mosquitoes. The dew that should have collected by then was missing, leaving the midnight grass matte and lifeless. More often than usual, sparks popped in the fire and hit Aaron's legs. Sections of leg hair were gone, crisped up by the fire and stinking. Fewer words than usual were spoken but he didn't understand why. Everything was wrong.</p><p>Uncle Gary let him try whiskey that night. It fucking <em>hurt,</em> like drinking nail polish remover, but he downed the shot anyways so that his uncle would laugh and smile like he had when he tried the beer. When he took it down, Uncle Gary didn't notice. He just stared ahead into the fire as if there was something important in the flicker. That wouldn’t do, couldn’t be right; Aaron wanted– <em>needed– </em>to be the most important thing to him. He took the bottle from next to his uncle's leg and took a long, hard swig. That snapped him out of his trance.</p><p>"Jesus, kiddo!" he laughed, grabbing the bottle from his hands. "Save some for the rest of us, would ya?"</p><p>Aaron laughed and smiled up at him, ignoring the droplets of booze dribbling down his chin. He felt so warm, knew that the blood had risen to his cheeks, noticed the way his glasses fogged up just a little from the heat against the chill summer air. His head was swimming and every movement of his body felt foreign and loose. Underneath it all, he could tell his throat still burned, but couldn't seem to focus on the pain for long enough to contemplate it. Uncle Gary looked at him strangely, eyes half-lidded and affectionate as he took a long drink from the bottle. He wiped his mouth with the flannel of his sleeve and yawned as he stood. When he stretched, bones cracked and he groaned.</p><p>"Welp, I'm ready to hit the hay. How about you?" Uncle Gary didn't wait for an answer before extending a hand out to help him up. Shaky on his feet and unfathomably dizzy, he was thankful for the support as he got up.</p><p>"Okay," he said simply, following his uncle away. As they walked, nausea lurched up in his gut and he crumpled to the ground, scraping his knees on twigs as he puked. It hurt much worse coming up than it did going down and he stayed that way for a few minutes, gagging and hiccuping until his stomach finally settled.</p><p>"You got some on your shirt, man."</p><p>He looked down and saw the vomit on the front of his shirt. Unable to rationalize any other reaction in his childish drunken shame, he started sobbing and apologizing. He felt revolting and stupid and so, so embarrassed. Uncle Gary wouldn't be able to love him after that; not when he'd failed so miserably at being a grown-up, not when he needed to be carried and cleaned and babied. <em>Babied. </em>Nothing hurt a kid his age more than being compared to some screaming, wimpy little toddler. He realized, when a stunned silence followed, that he'd said all of those things out loud.</p><p>"Hey, hey! It's okay, buddy. It's okay." Uncle Gary scooped him up and took him back to the tent, careful to go slow and avoid upsetting his stomach any further. When they got back inside, his uncle took the shirt and stuck it outside to be washed in the morning. He took a rag and poured from their water jug, soaking it to clean off his chest. When he pressed the cold cloth to his chest, he winced.</p><p>"Shh, I've got you," Uncle Gary muttered, rubbing gentle circles. He went a little further down onto Aaron's ribs, staring at his flesh intently. Aaron kept his eyes trained on the roof of the tent, wishing he could see the stars above rather than the red plastic. It was so dark in there, the fire outside starting to smolder and the flashlights off. The rag dragged its way down to his waist, over his stomach and belly button. He kept staring straight ahead and imagined he could see through the tent, could count the stars and name every constellation, that the whole world was above him and not in here. His uncle made a strange little sound in his throat and dragged the cloth down further and further and then–</p><p>It was so dark in the tent.</p><p>They didn't talk very much the next morning. The gear was packed up in a heavy, choking silence. It was already a warm day and the sun hadn't even fully risen. Sweat burned his eyes as he loaded the supplies back into the trunk. When Uncle Gary tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped so hard that he felt his pulse in his throat. He handed Aaron a drink from the cooler in silence. It was an orange soda with the cap already twisted off. When he got into the front seat he took a few swigs, desperate for the hydration but gagging at the sugary sweetness of it. Aaron didn't say anything. He felt so guilty.</p><p>Uncle Gary didn't turn the radio on for the entire drive. For an hour and a half, the only sound in the car was the rumble of the engine and the occasional kicked-up rock hitting the windshield. He tried for so long to come up with something to say. There were a million questions that he couldn’t ask, all sticking in his throat when he tried to voice them. Their world felt like it was gone forever and Aaron knew he was the cause. He wanted things to go back to the way they were before. He wanted his uncle back.</p><p>"Are you okay?" Uncle Gary finally asked as he pulled up in front of Aaron's house.</p><p>"Yeah," he said with an overeager nod, voice feeling foreign in his throat. "I'm fine."</p><p>"I shouldn't have let you drink any of that whiskey last night," he laughed, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "Don't tell your mom, alright? She'd kill me."</p><p>
  <em>But…what about the rest of it?</em>
</p><p>"I had my first drinks when I was your age. Figure a boy should learn how to hold his liquor early on. Avoid the embarrassment later in life, yeah?" He cleared his throat. "Messes you up those first few times, though. Gets you thinking some weird things happen. I think it's just the brain tryin' to fill in the blanks, y'know? People lose their memory sometimes. Remember things that didn't happen, forget the things that actually did. Hard to trust your memory when liquor comes in, kiddo. Never forget that. Got me into a bit of trouble when I was younger."</p><p>Aaron nodded softly, unable to say anything else. When his uncle said goodbye, he parroted the words and tone. He accepted the hug offered to him but could hardly feel it. His head throbbed <em>one-two-three </em>before he got out of the car, backpack slung over his shoulder. When his uncle waved goodbye, he couldn't move his arm to reciprocate the gesture.</p><p>He made a show of yawning when he saw his mom, made an excuse about not being able to sleep so that she'd let him go upstairs. If she noticed something was wrong, she didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if he loved or hated her for it. When he got upstairs and shut the door, he collapsed against it as a flood of tears finally spilled out. He felt disgusting and ashamed and wanted to rip his skin off, step out of his body, get rid of every piece of himself. More than anything though, he felt...alone.</p><p>For weeks, all he thought about was that night in the tent. He didn't know if it had even really happened or not. It felt so real. He could still imagine the touches, hear the crinkle of the tent, feel the liquor and bile burning in his throat as he stared up at stars that weren't there. Some of the memories were gone though, like what came next, or when he fell asleep, or how he managed to. Uncle Gary said that it messed with his memory. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was all just a bad dream. Maybe he could forget about it.</p><p>That proved to be impossible. He saw his Uncle Gary not long after when his aunt came to stay with them for a weekend. His mom said that they were going to have a girl's night, drinking wine and watching movies. He’d always thought those nights were dull, but he wanted to ask so badly if he could stay. It was clear what the intention was; get Aaron and Gary out of the house so that the two of them could hang out. Let the boys have a night out in the woods while they painted their nails and laughed and got wasted. He almost threw up when he saw the bottle of wine his aunt brought. The burn never left his throat. </p><p>He didn't know what to say when his mom handed him his bag, all packed up to go camping. He wanted to beg her to let him stay, wanted to say he'd be quiet, that he'd just sit in his room and play his N64 and he'd be good. Then his Uncle Gary walked in, holding a huge present with Aaron's name on the tag. His mom gasped and enthused about how awesome it was that Gary was giving him such a big present. She got out her disposable camera and held it up as Uncle Gary set the present down. With their eyes on him, he gave a weak smile and tore the wrapping paper off with weak hands. He heard the click of the camera as he pulled the present out; it was a fishing pole, an expensive one at that, heavy and shimmering blue. They all clapped and congratulated him on the present. He held onto the handle tightly, thanking his uncle for the thoughtful gift. He jumped when met with a pat on the back.</p><p>On the way to the campsite, he tried to think of a way to get out of it. He considered trying to make himself throw up so that they'd turn around, but then he remembered when he… That wouldn't work. There was no way he could jump out of the SUV, as much as he wanted to. He'd die for sure; the hills here were too steep to safely fall down. </p><p>He felt like he might die either way.</p><p>It happened again that night, worse than before, but Aaron kept his mouth shut. It was all he could do.</p><p>They don't teach you what to do about that in school. They tell you not to talk to strangers; Uncle Gary wasn't a stranger. They tell you not to get in the car with any strange men; Uncle Gary wasn't strange to him. They tell you that if anyone tries to touch you, you need to tell an adult you trust right away. What if the only adult you trust is the one trying to touch you? Who was there to tell? He knew that people got arrested for doing stuff like that. He didn't want Uncle Gary to get arrested. He loved him. They loved each other. Uncle Gary was the only person who paid him any attention and he <em>loved it. </em>He couldn't lose him; he needed him. So, he decided that he would be good and quiet and it would all be over soon.</p><p>When they went on the next trip, he realized it was never going to be that simple.</p><p>The fifth time, it was too much. There were– <em>things, </em>now. Things that hurt. Things that made him feel like he was going to die right then and there, whether it be from shame or the ache or the <em>anger </em>he felt whenever it happened. So he ran. </p><p>It was stupid to try without a flashlight; he knew the area well, but not well enough to avoid the bramble patches. When his shoe caught on a root, he fell into a blackberry shrub, landing on his knees. The spines went straight into his legs, his shorts doing nothing to protect him. The deep colored juice of the berries crushed by his fall soaked into his wounds and the burn of it made him sob into the open air. </p><p>Running had done no good in the end. He followed the echoes of his sobs and carried him back. Blood and blackberry juice dripped down his calves, staining the new white socks Uncle Gary had given him for the trip. When they got back to the campsite, he sat Aaron down in front of the fire and cleaned his wounds. </p><p>"I guess we shouldn't do this anymore, huh?" Uncle Gary asked, pressing an iodine rag to a particularly deep cut. He hissed and nodded, wanted so badly to say <em>yes, please, let's go back to normal now and it'll all be okay–</em></p><p>"Go camping, I mean. It's obviously not something you like all that much anymore," he said, leaning back on his haunches. Aaron couldn't bring himself to look up, just kept his eyes fixed on the stained skin. "Which is fine, you know. Outgrowing stuff like that's normal."</p><p>He didn't know how to explain that wasn’t what he meant at all, that he still loved being outside and setting up the tents and starting the fires, that the problem was the <em>other stuff. </em>The words wouldn't come to him.</p><p>"And I don't mind going by myself, you know. It's just…"</p><p>A harsh breeze blew by and Aaron's skin prickled as he shivered. It was so quiet all around them. The only sounds were the crackles of the logs as they sent puffs of heady soot into the air. Everything around him reeked of smoke.</p><p>"I'd miss you a lot, kiddo. You're my favorite, you know. Out of all of 'em. In the whole family, you're the best."</p><p>And then Uncle Gary was sniffling and he’d never seen him cry before but there it was, streams of tears catching in his stubble, his face all red and blotchy. He was on his knees <em>begging </em>Aaron not to leave him. There was nothing left to say.</p><p>Aaron never ran again.</p><p>↭</p><p>"When did he stop?" Josef asked, voice throaty and just above a whisper. He looked at Aaron as if he was the most precious, fragile thing in the world and it was <em>incredible– </em>to be believed, worried about, important– he’d never wanted anything more. </p><p>"When I was 13," he said, the words no longer caught in his throat but flowing freely. "I don't know why. Maybe he was scared I'd realize I could tell. Or maybe I was just too old for him by then."</p><p>"That's absolutely sick," Josef said softly, though something bright burned behind his eyes.</p><p>"He was," Aaron agreed, not quite knowing what else to say. "He was fucking sick."</p><p>And then Josef looked at him, <em>really </em>looked, dissecting him neatly with his stare until Aaron shivered and pulled back. Josef made sure no one was watching before grabbing his hand and squeezing it hard, a strange foil to the way he'd held Sara so gently the other day.</p><p>"You didn't deserve that, Aaron. I mean, no one does, but especially not you. The people who take advantage of the vulnerable like that… They don't deserve to be around anyone." Josef leaned in a little closer and he could feel his breath on his, going lightheaded with the sensation.</p><p>"People like him don't deserve to live, Aaron."</p><p>"Do you really think so?" he asked absentmindedly, too focused on how close their faces were to worry about anything else. When Josef smiled, he could see every muscle in his face that contracted for it. His lips pulled back in the grin, teeth pearly and bright and sharp. He was so close, it wouldn't even take much to connect them, just a little–</p><p>"Oh, Aaron. I <em>know so.</em>"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you so much for reading! i know this chapter was quite heavy, but i do still hope you enjoyed, at least in some sense? comments and kudos are wonderful and always make my day &lt;3 thank you again!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <b>summary for anyone who skipped: </b></p><p> </p><p>After months of grooming while on camping trips, Aaron's uncle began to sexually abuse him. Because he didn't have any other support systems in place, he felt trapped and forced to endure the abuse for the sake of their relationship. Through gifts, verbal manipulation, and neglect, his uncle was able to keep him in these situations and confuse him to the point of not knowing if it was even abuse. One day, when it got to be too much, he ran out into the woods by their campsite. He tripped and got blackberry juice in his wound, brambles sticking to his leg. His uncle found him, cleaned him up, and guilted him into staying quiet and not leaving him. Aaron didn't run again.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>